The Moment Before
A novel about seizures and salvation....
In The Moment Before, renowned Parisian artist Yvette Roman suffers from epileptic seizures that are preceded by extraordinary visions. Much of her work is based on those visions. While in New York City for an exhibition of her work at The Guggenheim, a painting by Yvette is delivered to her Manhattan gallery. But, Yvette has no recollection of having done it, even though the painting may be her masterwork.
Is it hers? Is it a forgery? Is someone trying to destroy Yvette?
—
From Chapter 1
The moment before the attack, Emma was running from riot police, away from the Paris Bourse. She supported the student strikes. But she was not prepared for this. Hundreds of young people shouting for the death of De Gaulle, the arrest of Pompidou, for victory in the streets, revolution, and anarchy, were occupying the building. Flames bristled from the ground floor and appeared to Emma in the darkness like craggy golden fog, made so by the tear gas everywhere. Yvette was with her and cried out as she gripped her mother’s hand. She was still dressed in her Pershing Hall School uniform and coat, eleven years old, her backpack filled with the usual few books and homework, pencils, and paper.
“Maman!”
Emma lost her.
“Maman! Please! Aide-moi!”
Yvette had fallen and, as Emma pushed back through the advancing crowd, pummeled and banged about, she saw Yvette being trampled by several panicked demonstrators. She hurried the girl into her arms, shouting at the crowd passing them by and pleading for help. Blood riffled from a gash on Yvette’s head down the sleeves of Emma’s jacket. Looking over her shoulder, Emma saw a dozen Paris riot police, part of a phalanx of them. They swung their bats above their heads as they beat at the fleeing demonstrators. Yvette couldn’t get up. Emma held her, but then was attacked herself by two of the police. In long black coats, helmets, and gas masks, they beat Emma back to the ground. As she flailed about on the pavement, screaming out her innocence and grabbing for her daughter, one of the police struck Yvette with his club, a blow to the right side of her head, and ran off. Blood pooled between the paving stones on which Yvette lay unconscious. Emma covered her over.
“Chérie!”
She pulled the girl once more into her arms. Yvette’s head fell to the side, her body limp. “Yvette!” There was no response.
Emma was certain her daughter was gone.
Note: No Plagiarism Software, also known as Artificial Intelligence, was used in the composition of this piece.
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